Operation: Annihilated!
by SpockLikesCats
Summary: Nurse Chapel explains a few things to Dr. McCoy after a doctor/nurse disputation. NOTE: I do not earn anything from my Star Trek fanfiction - except your reviews, dear readers. Hint, hint.


_Operation – Annihilated, or, This Side of Parasite_

By SpockLikesCats

TOS. Post-_Operation: Annihilate!_ Chapel and McCoy sort through their reactions to, and actions concerning, Spock's infection by the parasite. I promise, the story is _not_ as cracky as the title – I just couldn't resist!

Leonard McCoy was hitting the booze – he tossed off a glass of bourbon, probably his second – at the end of the day. A _long_ damn day, but at least the command crew had reached a useful solution, thanks to McCoy and Spock. They'd run an experiment on Spock using the full spectrum of light and discovered that the parasites infecting the Denevan population would die if bombarded with ultraviolet radiation.

They had tried this on Spock, willing subject of the test, who was blinded because McCoy had used high intensity light on him, and had only learned later that UV radiation was the only element needed to defeat the parasites. Because of a protective nictating membrane in his eyes, legacy of his race's evolution on a desert planet, the Vulcan's vision had returned, thank God.

Christine knew McCoy could feel her staring at him and he slowly turned his head, a disapproving glare in his laser-blue eyes.

"You contradicted me, Nurse," he snapped. "In the middle of a goddamn operation."

She sauntered over and poured herself a glass. She didn't like the stuff he drank, but she was making a point. She drank it down without wincing, slamming the glass back onto his desk. "Yes I did." She stripped off her Nurse's Badge and handed it to him. "Can I start being an exobiologist now?"

"Oh, for Chrissakes," the doctor mumbled, fingering the badge and handing it back to her. His hand felt hot. "All right, I acknowledge that you had a point. But _you_ have to acknowledge there wasn't much we could do, except maybe screw up Spock's nervous system."

"We could have excised more of the parasite," she said stubbornly. "It might have saved him some pain."

"Ah, but—" McCoy smiled bitterly. "Don't you know, Vulcans feel no pain."

"Don't you start—" she said in a threatening tone.

He poured another couple of shots and stowed the bottle in his desk drawer. He sipped slowly, savoring the taste, apparently, and gazed at her again. "And y'know, it doesn't help your medical judgment that you're in love with Spock."

"Nor does it help yours that you dislike him."

"I don't dislike Spock. Not exactly. We argue because we have a lot of differences of opinion, and sometimes I can't understand his viewpoint at all. He's ice-cold with that logic. But I can tell you one thing." He took another slow sip, rolled the bourbon over his tongue, swallowed. "If Spock'd been the surgeon, he would have done the same thing I did. He's able to separate what _is _true from what he _wants_ to be true. Something, maybe, you should consider doing yourself."

Chapel flushed hotly – _the booze?_ – and just managed to keep herself from sputtering, _How dare you._ Instead, she took a moment to compose herself, straightening her shoulders and folding her hands behind her back. She noted that Len's eyes dropped to her torso for a nanosecond as she did so. _Distraction. Good._ Not that she'd done it on purpose; maybe it was a female instinct. Feeling a surge of confidence she said, "That was an unnecessary personal remark. And I'm not in love with him."

McCoy raised his eyebrow, a little smirk on his lips. "Really."

"_Really_." She shifted her feet, uncomfortable with the doctor's perspicacity. He narrowly studied her face. She took a few steps away, turning to face him from a more comfortable distance and sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Okay. Here it is, and it's something I hope you never repeat to anyone."

McCoy's demeanor modified into "detached, yet friendly." Maybe it was his Psychologist Face. Christine didn't care; suddenly she felt the need to correct his impression, and tell him the bald, embarrassing truth. "I – I'm not in love with him. What I feel for him is some kind of … mix of crush and admiration."

Sitting down in a side chair, McCoy gestured to the chair behind his desk. "You've been on your feet all day, Christine. Relax for a minute."

Glancing at him sidelong – _you're not putting one over on me, Len, I know what you're up to_ – Chapel moved over to sit, crossing one long leg over the other – _he's looking again – _and leaned her elbows on the desk, turning her face away for a second. _God, everything I'm doing is a dead giveaway. But who's to say he doesn't know everything anyway? He doesn't miss a trick._

She looked over at him; he was sipping that bourbon, seemingly minding his own business while she composed herself. After an inward smile at his studied indifference, she began. "I was a senior in Exobiology at University of California, Berkeley, and LCDR Spock gave us a briefing on opportunities in Starfleet. He described some of the biological discoveries made by Starfleet scientists, including him. And when he talked about them, he …" She ran her fingers through the hair over her forehead. "Well, he lit up. He looked very handsome.

"He didn't _act_ excited, but his eyes … they were almost twinkling when he talked about the things he'd encountered. At the time I was engaged to Roger Korby, so I wasn't interested in Spock _that way_, but I like a handsome man as much as the next woman, and Vulcans have a … a certain appeal. He's elegant in a way that human men aren't. Phssshht. I can't explain it to you."

"Naww, I've noticed it too. It's almost like they trail pheromones. When the crew see him and think he's not looking, they're checking him out. Females _and_ males." McCoy smiled. "'Course, I can't say if the males looking at him are hetero-, homo-, or pan-sexual, but his sex appeal amazes me. I don't think he's so special, but pardon me if I seem a little envious."

Chapel almost chuckled. "What, you haven't seen people checking _you_ out?"

"Get outta here." He gestured at her. "Go on with what you were saying."

"So, the other thing, besides the fact that he's taller than I am, which is rare –"

McCoy's eyes glinted at her and he half snickered – "was his intelligence, that completely amazing intellect. I mean, I was surrounded with bright people, but Spock outshone them all.

"I had dark hair at the time. I'm not sure he even remembers me from that lecture, and I was quite professional when I asked questions. I didn't hang around afterward like the dozens of other students. Then when I reported aboard _Enterprise_, I was a nurse, not a science officer. And being greeted by him, first thing, in the Transporter Room, I was … well … knocked for a loop."

"Why did you become a nurse?" This was something McCoy had apparently wanted to ask her many times; he had a familiar look on his face, the same one he wore at times when she came out with a raft of Exobiology expertise.

"Oh, I still don't know. Roger's disappearance really hurt me, and I had some idea of saving him, and I always did like clinically applied exobiology. I figured I could combine the two for Starfleet.

"I think, originally, what most appealed to me about Spock was his love of science, which of course he would never say, but it came across. You see, the same thing had attracted me to Roger – he was always so excited about his discoveries and their real-world prosthetics applications. We could talk for hours about them. And now …"

From the expression on McCoy's face she could tell she still had a sorrowful mien when she mentioned her fiancé. The thing she always wondered was: _how long was Roger dead? Was he dead when we were … together?_ She didn't think so, but how would she know? Even Captain Kirk, womanizer extraordinaire, had been fooled by Drea, to all appearances and sensations a real woman ….

And Roger had been so _convincing_ when they'd found him, right up until Christine saw the rip in his artificial flesh, revealing the circuits beneath ….

She closed her eyes, trying to block the memory. She didn't love him anymore. He had hurt her, first with his undoubtedly pre-arranged 'disappearance' and then with that horrid deception. And his megalomaniacal plans to 'help mankind.' She still had nightmares.

_And Spock's the next-best thing to a computer,_ insinuated the sarcastic voice in her head. She pursed her lips in disapproval at her own negative wit. _No, Spock is not like a computer. But fantasies about him are an attractive way to escape those terrifying memories. _Her eyes stung.

"Now … the thought of … Spock keeps me from remembering Roger," Christine said, tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh God, I almost _believed_ Roger ... believed _in_ him. He came so close to … to hurting so many people … I didn't pick up on his instability back at university, and when we found him I didn't see what he – he _was_ … until his – his arm ripped open. I can't trust—I can't—"

She sensed, rather than saw, McCoy move. She heard him stand, the click of his glass on the desktop, then felt his body close to her, his arms closing gently around her shoulders as she wept, her face against his chest like a little girl, gulping for air, emitting loud sobs. One of McCoy's hands, flat against her back, made warm, soothing circles. Her arms slipped around his waist, holding on tight.

"That parasite in Spock reminded you of what Roger had become," he said after a while, in his soft Southern accent. "A _thing_ that could make us surrender all volition. I see now why you reacted like that." He massaged her shoulders, then bent away a little to get her a disposable handkerchief from the desk drawer. She clung on to him. The movement of his torso, his solidity and heat, were reassuring.

Pulling herself back from him, she said roughly, "I didn't want to lose Spock, too, to another kind of insanity and a terrible, pointless death." Looking up into Len's eyes, now warm with friendship, she accepted the tissue and wiped her face, turning away to blow her nose, which, swollen, sounded trumpet-like in the room, adding to her sense of disgust. "God, what a life." She kept her back to McCoy, inhaling slowly so she wouldn't break down again.

"Whaddaya mean?" His voice was soft.

She gestured, impatient with herself. "Here I am, a fully qualified exobiologist. Instead, I chose to be a nurse. An argumentative one. There I was, intelligently pursuing my studies, and I fell in love with someone I thought was a really passionate scientist, who turned out to be some kind of … sociopath. I gave up my future in Exobiology to join the service to _find_ him, for God's sake. In all the systems in all the galaxy, I thought I'd find him and re-join him in some … _loving reunion_. And now I have a stupid _crush_ on our Vulcan science officer."

Coming around the chair to crouch in front of her, Len said, "The way you described it, it doesn't sound that stupid to me, Christine. And you _are_ a fully qualified exobiologist, so I'm gonna ask more of you professionally. Other nurses can fill in for you when you're researching or helping me find solutions for strange new medical problems. Sound good?"

Smiling, her swollen eyes bunching uncomfortably, Chapel nodded.

"All right." Slapping his thighs, he stood up. "How about joinin' me for a Southern fried chicken dinner at my place? I know you love chicken and a mess of greens as much as I do. Comfort food."

"As long as it comes with the starchy stuff," she grinned. "Biscuits ... corn bread ... rice or mashed potatoes. Gravy. Mmmm. And red velvet cake for dessert?"

He nodded, a smile tickling his blue eyes. "I think I can handle that big ol' appetite of yours, missy."

"You're the one who always says I should put on a few kilos." Chapel was constitutionally unable to gain weight. She came from a long line of tall, skinny people. McCoy often remarked that she ate like a horse, but persisted in looking coltish.

"Yeah, well I'm gettin' used to you. I kinda like your knobby filly legs," he teased.

"Let me shower and change first. I feel like hell. And _you've_ got snot all over your tunic."

Len shrugged. "That's why I get paid the big bucks, Christine." He slowly reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. "And even all swole up, you couldn't look like hell if you tried all day long."

"Oh, you ol' charmer." Standing, she moved to peck him on the cheek, and he held her gently by the shoulders, looking steadily at her.

"Y'okay?"

"Tired."

"You'll be right sleepy after dinner. You're welcome to stay."

Her brows lowering, she stepped away from his hands.

"I'll take the couch. And _you_ stop jumping to conclusions." He grinned. "Now go get your frock on and meet me in my parlor."

With a rueful smile, Christine turned to leave.

"And one more thing, Nurse," McCoy said.

"Yes, Doctor."

"No more contradicting me when we're operating."

"Of course, Doctor." She went to the door and about-faced. "As long as we're not operating on Spock." She raised an eyebrow in a near-perfect imitation of the First Officer. "I want to be able to challenge you when he is unable to do so."

Rolling his eyes, McCoy said, "Oh fer Chrissakes. We'll discuss it, all right? Join me in thirty minutes for some whisky you'll actually _enjoy_. Then dinner."

"Now _that's_ an order with which I can whole-heartedly comply," said Christine.

~/\~ The End ~/\~


End file.
